


Hard Believer

by flickerjax (Stone_Princess)



Category: The Rifter - Ginn Hale
Genre: Canon Related, First Time, M/M, Missing Scene, PWP, Romance, The Rifter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 18:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stone_Princess/pseuds/flickerjax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jath'ibaye and Kyle'insira's first time in Vundomo.  Canon, in as much as fic can ever be, takes place at the end of chapter 58 of The Rifter.  I needed more of them, so I made it myself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Believer

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to my own RhiannonHero. She held my hand through writing, which was the least she could do after ruining my life by giving me this book. I can't think of anything else but John and Ravishan. If you're also so afflicted, here's some words for you to share in the obsession.

* * *

Sleep was impossible. Kahlil lay next to Jath'ibaye aware of every breath in the quiet room. Tension hummed through him as he tried to think of anything but Jath'ibaye's warm body just inches away. Kahlil was already half hard from Ravishan's memories of the first time Jahn had taken him to bed. Even without that unwanted recollection Kahlil's desire for Jath'ibaye was undeniable. Watching him step naked and wet from the bath, Kahlil's curiosity had turned to lust in a way he had never allowed himself in Nayeshi. Whether he was Ravishan's devoted Jahn or Basawar’s terrible and awe-inspiring Jath'ibaye, or the Rifter come to end them all, the man beside him was still John. Kyle's John, his ward, so human and vulnerable. The man he had watched grow up. The man he wasn't allowed to touch because someday he might have to kill him. But everything was different now.

Kahlil had always been on the outside of sex, of romance, of love. In Nayeshi, he’d frequently told himself that fulfilling his sacred duty to watch over John was enough to sustain him. But that, like so many things about his life in Nayeshi, had been a lie. The truth was he’d wanted this for years. Not just because of their bond he could feel so deeply in his bones. Not just because John had grown into such a beautiful, kind man but because he'd felt for so long like John belonged to him, belonged with him, like this was always what was between them.

Ravishan's memories of Jahn confused everything. The love they had shared dovetailed neatly into the puzzle of Kahlil's feelings. The awareness that he hadn't lived those memories complicated things, but his body didn't care about that. Kahlil felt like he might burn up with his desire if he didn’t touch Jath'ibaye tonight. His longing vibrated through him, throbbed with his pulse. He reached out and ran a finger down Jath'baye's shoulder. Kahlil knew he was crossing a line, changing everything between them. Memory and yearning collided and he acted, as he often did, without thinking through the consequences first. Kahlil took a breath and steeled himself for Jath'ibaye's response. He was ready to break the contact when Jath'ibaye caught him around the wrist and pulled Kahlil's hand against his chest.

Kahlil started to whisper an apology, an explanation, but Jath'ibaye's mouth closed over his. The kiss was soft, almost a question or perhaps an answer to Kahlil's tentative touch. Kahlil responded with the whole weight of his need and reached his free hand into Jath'ibaye's hair, curling his fingers around his skull. Jath'ibaye gripped Kahlil's wrist tighter and the kiss grew rougher, almost desperate. Kahlil felt the bond between them open, the golden warmth of it blooming like a living presence between them, linking them, making their kiss so intense that Kahlil shuddered and pulled Jath'ibaye closer, as if he could hold on to this feeling forever.

"I forgot. I forgot how this felt, how it felt to touch you," Jath'ibaye said softly as the kiss broke.  
Kahlil nearly answered that it wasn't his touch he remembered, that they had never kissed before but he couldn't be sure now if that was true and what wasn't, his memory was so tangled. He said the only thing he knew was always true, "I never wanted anyone but you. I waited half my life for you."

Jath'ibaye released his wrist and pushed Kahlil's hair back, threading his fingers into it, his thumbs resting along Khalil's jaw. This time the kiss was the bursting of a dam. Barriers no longer existed between them, all the posturing and awkwardness in their interactions had been suppressed desire and now nothing hindered them.

Kahlil's hands traveled over Jath'ibaye's body, eager and unsure, but desperate to learn all of Jath'ibaye's skin. His hands moved just as Ravishan's had that first night in Nurjima. Kahlil remembered feeling anxiety and eager passion, so much like what he felt now. He recalled how carefully Jahn had directed him, without seeming to lead, the balance Jahn had found between patience and his own wild lust. 

"Show me how to please you," Kahlil whispered.

"You know..." Jath'ibaye started but Kahlil cut him off, "No, please, I want this, us, just as we are now."

Jath'ibaye was still for a breath then he caught Kahlil's hand and brought it his mouth, kissing his fingers and palm, "Kyle," he whispered into Kahlil's hand so Kahlil knew he had understood.

"John, my John," Kahlil answered, kissing him softly as he turned away from Ravishan’s memories, shaking off everything that wasn't this moment.

John released Kahlil's hand and ran his fingers down the ropy scars along Kahlil's forearm. John brought Kahlil's hand to his chest, resting his palm against the warm skin there. He laid his own over Kahlil's and pressed it down, guiding Kahlil’s movements.

"Want your hands on me." John's whisper was like waves on a rocky beach as he pulled Kahlil's hand down over his nipple. John's breath hitched at the touch and Kahlil rolled the nub and pinched making John gasp again before he let his hand be guided down over the tight muscles of John's abdomen. Their fingers combed through the golden trail of hair there, until they met the thicker hair lower, pushing under the waistband of his longjohns. John tugged Kahlil's hand and turned it until they both gripped the hot silken shaft of John's cock.

"Like this," John said setting a rhythm and then releasing control of it. John let his own hands roam over Kahlil. In Nayeshi, Kahlil had watched John masturbate more than once, now he put that secret knowledge to good use, quickening his strokes on John’s cock then slowing but gripping tighter.

"Yes," John hissed in satisfaction, "oh, like that."

Kahlil felt his chest swell with pride and satisfaction at pleasing John. He let go long enough to shift John onto his back and pull off the damned longjohns that covered too much. Kahlil quickly wiggled out of his own underwear, tossed them aside and moved so that he was kneeling between John's spread legs. He wrapped his hand around John's cock again, quickly finding the right rhythm as he leaned forward and licked over John's nipple. He was rewarded by John moaning and twisting his fingers in to Kahlil's hair. Kahlil let his mouth trail over the tight skin of John's abdomen, moving lower, making no secret of his goal. Still the satisfaction of John's response when he closed his mouth over the head of John' cock was its own secret pleasure. 

Here in this room John was Kahlil's private deity, to be worshipped, not as the Rifter or any aspect of Parfir but as an object of endless longing finally fulfilled, as dream made flesh, as fantasy finally laid before him. _His blood and bone my sea and stone. His body, my world. His will, my life._ The prayers came unbidden to Kahlil. _Your flesh is my earth. Your blood is my river. Your breath is my sky. Your body is my world._

Pleasing John seemed as important as breathing and as easy. His body was Kahlil's world. John twisted beneath him, gasping and sighing as Kahlil licked and sucked his cock, using his hands with the same focus he'd devoted to training when he was young. John's hands drifted over Kahlil's shoulders and back, gripping his arms, squeezing when Kahlil did something particularly resourceful with his tongue. They rocked together in a steady give and take until John's hands tugged, pulling Kahlil up and then down on top of him.

Kahlil was so hard that he cried out at the intense shock of pleasure as his cock slid against the wet heat of John's. John pulled him into a fierce kiss, grinding their hips together and pleasure rolled through Kahlil like the pounding surf. John's kiss was possessive, demanding, and the most wanted Kahlil had ever felt. John tumbled them over in the bed until Kahlil was beneath him and for a second Kahlil's memory flashed to John besting him in a fight and pinning him down, sweaty and panting. Kahlil pushed the thought away, staying in the moment.

John kissed him hard again and then released him quickly, kissing and biting down Kahlil's neck with a ferocity that felt like a thunderstorm. Kahlil arched and pressed into every bit of contact. John's mouth on him was liquid fire, stoking Kahlil's lust until he wasn't aware of anything but John's touch.

As he rolled with the storm of John's touch, Kahlil felt like it might devour him entirely. John descended lower, licking wet lines along the thin scars on Kahlil's chest and abdomen. Kahlil tipped his hips up, desperate for John to touch his cock, but instead John pushed his knees apart and slid a wet finger along Kahlil's exposed ass.

"Okay?" John asked, the tip of his finger pressed to enter Kahlil.

"Yes." Kahlil shifted his hips down in answer, helping John to enter him. It was easy now to fall into Ravishan's experience, to know what to do while John's hands carefully prepped him. Kahlil was dizzy with the touch, the stretch, the memories, the strange juxtaposition in his head of knowing exactly what to expect and feeling the thrilling anxiety of this first time.

John's fingers, wet with spit, worked him carefully open until Kahlil couldn't stand waiting any more. He had to know. "Please, John, please," he pleaded, wrapping his hand around John's wrist to still the hand that slowly fucked him.

"What do you want?" He could hear John's satisfied smile.

"I want you, I want to feel you, please. I need you."

"Are you sure you're ready?" John asked, his voice gravely, as he shifted up, his cock dragging over Kahlil's, his hands steadying Kahlil's hips.

"Yes."

Kahlil braced himself as best he could. His heart pounding as he watched John spit in his hand and run it over his cock. The pressure was incredible as John slowly pushed into him, but he rocked back, trying to take more, like his body knew what to do.

John moved slowly at first, on hand on Kahlil's hip, the other cupped around the back of his skull, pulling Kahlil into a light kiss with each stroke. Kahlil felt so raw and exposed that it was like a lightning strike when John wrapped his hand around Kahlil's cock and stroked in steady counterpoint to his thrusts. He opened his eyes to find John watching him.

"So beautiful. Love you." John’s eyes expressed utter devotion. And it was all for him. It was too intense, too much, too everything. He grabbed John's wrist and moved John's hand back to his hip, the touch on his cock too overwhelming.

John paused for a second, his look asking if Kahlil was okay. 

Kahlil answered before John could speak. "Harder. Please, please." And John obliged, the shadow of concern passing into raw desire.

Kahlil thrust back, taking as much John as he could. The air in the room was electric, churning and humid as John panted above him. Kahlil felt nothing but the connection between them, a golden heat rushing like the tide, spreading from his chest, down his spine. He felt his release coiling, low and tight. He clenched and shifted, incredible pleasure bursting through him at the changed angle just as he heard John cry out. Kahlil rushed past the edge and came like falling over a cliff, without even John's hand on him, the unbelievable force of their connection, physical and spiritual, surging through him.

"Oh fuck, fuck," John said, his grip on Kahlil's hip slipping and moving into the hot mess of Kahlil's come. "You're mine. Only mine." His voice was rough thunder as he pushed hard into Kahlil.

"Always," he said, over and over as John came. "Always yours, always." 

John collapsed over him, slick with sweat. They kissed, messily and so openly that Kahlil felt his cock twitch slightly, too soon. But John sighed and broke away, pulling carefully out and rolling to the side as he gathered Kahlil into his arms. Kahlil's heart felt like it filled his whole chest, it beat so hard, and he felt John's heartbeat as an echo as they pressed together.

Kahlil knew for the first time in his life what belonging meant. He struggled to remember every breath, every sensation that had passed between them, wanting to hold on to it as long as he could. Kahlil tried to freeze the memory, to make this one stronger, clearer than all the others. John's breathing slowed and Kahlil fell into its rhythm, John's languid touch calming him, pulling them both down into peaceful sleep.

_~finis~_


End file.
